Coming to Grips
by Zeroninety
Summary: In 1991, tension is in the air when the Misfits preapre for their latest TV appearance: Pizzazz is on the warpath after hearing that a comedy sketch is going to skewer her, while something has Stormer on edge. It's up to Roxy to hold things together...a recipe for disaster!


Coming to Grips

(All rights, etc, belong to Hasbro).

* * *

Pizzazz's screeching echoed around the halls of the EEG Building at 30 Carnegie Plaza like a rusty jackhammer.

"How DARE she!" our leader howled, as she grabbed a big-ass photo off the wall of the original cast of _Friday After Dark_ and smashed it over her knee. "They'll all pay for this! If that crap gets on the air, they'll wish they'd never been born!"

The word had just reached our ears a few moments earlier: the show planned to "celebrate" booking us as that week's musical guest by including a sketch where Jean Pegs would do an impression of Pizzazz that made her look like a spoiled, psychotic bitch.

The idea sounded pretty damn funny to me, but Pizzazz didn't see it that way.

Stormer immediately jumped into soothing mode, which almost never works, so I don't know why she ever bothers. Pizzazz is Pizzazz—always will be.

Jetta leaned over to me. "I better ring Eric. We're gonna need a spot of 'elp 'ere."

I don't know what the fuck she thought Eric could do about it. Jetta can be pretty stupid.

As I guessed, Pizzazz shoved Stormer away and continued her tantrum. "Those bastards think they can insult me to my face?! I'll make Daddy buy this whole network and fire them all!"

If you've never met Pizzazz, that would sound like a stupid, childish threat. I know better: she once convinced her dad to buy Eastern Airlines and shut them down, just because they lost her shipment of moisturizer.

She then grabbed a network page who made the mistake of popping her head into the dressing room to see what all the racket was about. "You tell that hack producer that we're not going on tonight!" Pizzazz bellowed, as she shook the little twerp silly. "Unless he fires Jean Pegs, and whoever wrote that piece of trash they're planning to do about me!"

Pizzazz shoved the girl's head into the wall. As the page held her head, I added a little kick to her butt to send her on her way. I figured that might get me a high five, but Pizzazz seemed too pissed off to notice. Whatever. I had more important things to worry about.

"I'm starving," I said. "I heard some dork say they've got cheesecake down at the commissary. We should get some sent up to our dressing room. Who's with me?"

Jetta let out a moan as she glanced over at Pizzazz, who was busy scowling at the wall. "Roxy's got a point, for once. I could use a bit of a bite…me stomach's been growling all morning," Jetta sighed, as she patted her ugly pale midriff. (I guess she never saw sunlight till she came to America, and she's still scared of it!).

"I bet you'd feel better if you had something to eat," Stormer said, as she tried to put her hand on Pizzazz's shoulder, only to have it slapped away.

"Who can think of eating at a time like this?" Pizzazz hissed.

Stormer put on one of those silly little smiles she gets when she knows there's a good chance she's about to get her head bitten off. "I heard they've got potato knishes, too. You always make sure to get some of those whenever we come to New York, remember?"

Pizzazz folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. "Yeah, those are pretty good. But I'm still pissed off about this whole attack on me. We're gonna figure out what we can do to stop it, before dress rehearsal."

Stormer nodded. "Well, let's eat first, ok?"

Pizzazz didn't say anything as she began walking back to our dressing room.

"Bloody close shave, there," Jetta babbled, unhelpfully, before she followed our leader down the hallway.

As Stormer turned to join them, I leaned over to her. "Hey," I whispered, "Just so you know, I think it's pronounced 'Nish.'"

Her mouth dropped open. "No, I'm pretty sure it's 'Kuh-nish.' That's what I've always heard."

I tried to wrap my head around that as we walked down the hall. "Then why isn't it 'Kuh-nife'?" I asked, which made Stormer grin as she put her arm around me.

I blushed. Words suck!

Sometimes, I wondered why I bothered trying to learn how to read.

* * *

"Last chance," I announced, as I held up Pizzazz's slice of cheesecake. But she didn't seem to hear me, as she stomped around the dressing room making hissing noises.

"Fine, more for me!" I told her. I stabbed my fork into the cake and yanked off a bite for myself. "Your loss."

On the other side of the dressing room, Stormer nursed a strawberry milkshake as Jetta tried to teach her to play cards. I coulda told Jetta she was wasting her time: Stormer could never quite get the difference between a straight and a flush, and she made an O-face whenever she got a good hand.

Stormer didn't seem to be paying attention to anything Jetta was saying. Who can blame her?

I nearly dropped my cheesecake when Pizzazz let out a shriek. "Where the fuck is Eric?!" she shouted.

"'Ee said 'e'd be 'ere," Jetta reminded her. "Just relax, ok? 'Ave a knish."

It's like Jetta totally forgot that we're the Misfits. Pizzazz grabbed the kuh-nish and smashed it against the mirror, then went back to stomping around.

"Hey, I woulda eaten that, you know?" I told her, but Pizzazz didn't say anything.

Somebody knocked on the door. "About time," Pizzazz muttered. "Let him in, Roxy."

I gave her the finger and took another bite of cheesecake.

Finally Stormer let out a sigh and walked over to the door.

Instead of Eric, some brunette in a pantsuit carrying a clipboard sauntered in. "Someone here wanted to speak to Mr. Thorne?"

"Who the hell are you?" Pizzazz sneered.

"I'm Patty Downs, Mr. Thorne's assistant. Producing _Friday After Dark_ is a time-consuming job, so I'm going to ask you to direct any issues you have to me, ok?"

"Well, la dee da!" Jetta laughed. "Someone's got too big for their lace knickers."

Patty gave Jetta a quick smirk. "I merely work for Michael Thorne."

Jetta leaned forward. "'Oo do you think I was talking about, luv?"

Don't let her know I said this, but sometimes, Jetta's not so horrible.

The pouty-looking gofer tried to ignore Jetta and turned back to Pizzazz. "I'm told you had some complaints?" she asked, as she checked her clipboard.

"You bet your flat ass I do!" Pizzazz shrieked. "I wanna know whose bright it idea it was to make fun of _me_ on TV!"

Patty looked at her like she was speaking Chinese, or something. "This is _Friday_ _After Dark._ We satirize all the big names in the entertainment world. It's an honor, in a way."

I saw Pizzazz mouthing the word "satirize" to herself, as she glared down at the producer's assistant. (I guess "satirize" means "make fun of," but it made me think of waxing a car).

Stormer put on a smile and tried to get everyone to make nice. "See, Pizzazz? It's an honor. It's when they're _not_ making fun of you that you should be worried about."

I'm sure that must've made a lot of sense in Stormer's head before she said it out loud, but the angry lines on Pizzazz's forehead made it clear that was the wrong crap to say.

"Perhaps you didn't know this," Pizzazz cooed, as she put her arm around Patty, "but I'm not just anyone—I'm the lead singer of the world's greatest rock group, and my father is one of the wealthiest men in America." Then, she began squeezing the punk like some sorta green-haired boa constrictor. "So you tell your boss to take that fuckin' sketch out of the show, or me and my band are outta here!"

Pizzazz relaxed her grip, and I just had to laugh as I watched the assistant scurry away from her and run out of the room. I tossed my plate at the woman as she left, for fun, but it missed. I guess I need to work on my aim.

"Well," Jetta said to no one in particular, "They're not daft enough to risk forcing us off the bloomin' programme. They'll come around."

Pizzazz folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air. "I need a drink," she muttered.

"It's only a few hours until dress rehearsal," Stormer reminded her, as Pizzazz rifled through the minibar. "And it's live, remember? We're gonna have to really nail it tonight."

Pizzazz let out a screech as she tossed a bottle at the mirror, which shattered into a bajillion pieces. "Ten bottles of gin, and not a trace of rum?!"

"Call the damn operator, then, tell him to send some up," I said, with a yawn. "And tell 'em to bring some more cheesecake," I added, as I licked my fork.

Pizzazz tried to stare me down, but she'll never be as badass as me, and she knows it.

"I'm outta here," she groaned, as she headed to the door. "Come on, Jetta."

"Eh, wot now?" Jetta mumbled, as she sat with her mouth open.

Pizzazz waved her arm for Jetta to follow her. "I wanna find some rum…and maybe find that bitch, Jean Whatshername."

As Jetta turned to leave, Stormer whispered something to her, and Jetta nodded.

"Come on, let's go!" Pizzazz hissed, as Jetta hurried after her into the hallway.

I spun in my chair and asked Stormer, "Hey, what'd you say to Jetta?"

"I said, 'Don't let her kill anyone,'" she smirked.

I had to grin. Sometimes, she surprises me.

"You shoulda gone with her, then," I told her. "Jetta's not good for much."

Stormer fidgeted as she walked over to where the mirror had been, picked up her hairbrush, and quickly put it down. "I think I'm gonna see if I can find Janie."

"Who?"

She looked all confused at me, which is pretty typical for her. "You know, Janie…tonight's host."

"Pfft." I never liked Janie Forrester much; she was a snob, and most of her movies were self-important shit. "Whaddya wanna talk to her for?"

Stormer wasn't looking at me as she hemmed and hawed. "I just…I just thought, you know…maybe she's got enough pull to make them cut the sketch about Pizzazz. She's the host, after all."

I guess that made sense, but it sounded like a waste of time to me. "Whatever. Good luck with _that_."

Stormer shrugged. "Well, I think it's worth a shot. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Fine by me." I tossed my plate aside. "I don't even know what she's doing on this show. It's supposed to be funny, right? Not a bitchface, bug-up-your-ass show."

"Meryl Saint's hosted, and she's not funny."

"Well, you think they woulda learned!" I laughed. "Now, if they want funny, they shoulda just made us the hosts. I coulda done my Stallone." I started shaking my fist in the air. "Yo, Adrian!"

Stormer giggled as she headed to the door. "Not bad. I'll see you later, ok?"

"Sure," I nodded. "Don't forget your coat."

"Huh?"

I chuckled. "For when you see the ice princess."

I'm pretty fuckin' funny, right?

Stormer didn't laugh.

Some people don't get comedy.

* * *

Nothing sucks worse than having time on my hands. I get bored pretty easy, and I couldn't have been any bored-er as I wandered around the halls of NBS studios.

People who make TV spend most of their time just sittin' around on their asses _thinking_ all day, and having boring meetings and shit. It would drive me nuts! (Don't expect to see _The Roxy Show_ anytime soon, as kickass as that would be).

Anyway, as I looked for something to do, I saw that little dweeb Tommy Sherman standing around. I guess he was practicing for one of his sketches, because he kept shouting, "Performing!" in a British accent at the top of his lungs.

Then again, maybe he's just a dumbass.

I shoved him out of my way. "Coming through!"

He glared at me. "What are you high on, Stormer, or whichever one you are?"

I grinned as I flipped him off. "Being awesome, taintcheese!"

That should've cheered me up, but something just didn't feel right.

Maybe it was knowing that Pizzazz was gonna be tough to be around for a few weeks after the show aired…

Maybe it was the strange sense that Stormer might be hiding something from me…

Maybe it was too much cheesecake…

I opened an office door, took a seat, and put my head in my hands.

When I looked up, I noticed thirty people around the table, all staring at me.

A gray-haired jackass in an Italian suit sat at the head of the table. Everyone else looked at him, then me, then back at him. Next to him, that Patty bitch leaned over and whispered into his ear.

_The producer, Thorne, _I realized. _Pizzazz should've taken _me _along with her. Jetta's probably got her halfway to Long Island by now._

The guy raised his pinky finger to his chin and asked, "So, Roxy, do you have something to contribute to show tonight?"

I sat up in my chair. "Uh…you mean, like a sketch?"

Thorne nodded. "We're just finishing the revisions for tonight's show." He let out a chuckle. "It's not often a musical guest contributes to the writing, but if you have any ideas that don't require any additional sets or costumes, I'm sure the writing staff would be glad to hear."

The thirty-odd guys in the room with me all laughed at once.

If I hadn't been a Misfit, I woulda crawled under that table and hid.

But I _am_ a Misfit.

"Yeah, I got an idea. How about a sketch where we kick the shit out of Jean Pegs for makin' fun of Pizzazz?!"

That got plenty of laughs.

See? Comedy's not hard.

Only then did I notice the chick sitting next to me. "Damn it, Mike," Jean whined in her goofy Southern accent, "I've worked for weeks on this impression! Talk some sense into this girl."

"Hey!" I yelled at her, "I'm not invisible. Don't talk to him, talk to me, turkey!"

She ignored me and kept bitching to Thorne. "This is my big sketch this week! If it gets cut, I might as well head home."

"Sounds good to me," I said, which got some more laughs from the writers. _Damn, I kick ass at this!_

Jean turned to me and scowled. "Enough out of you, missy. The last thing I need is trash like you and your buddies fucking up my career."

Now, if you think I was just gonna smile and take that, then you don't know shit about me.

I'm Roxanne Pelligrini.

I'm a Misfit.

It took about a dozen guys to pull me off her, as I slammed her face into the floor.

Next thing I know, some NBS security guys are dragging me down the hall to their office, and threatening to bring the cops in.

I reminded those dorks who I am, but that didn't stop them from locking me in an office with a security guard who kept wiping his sweaty palms all over his uniform.

I groaned as I leaned back in my chair…

_That could have gone better._

* * *

"I'm amazed, Roxy," Eric moaned, as he leaned against the wall of the security office, "at your remarkable talent for causing me problems."

I rarely paid much attention when he went off on one of his little bitch sessions. Riot was the real power at Stingers' Sound, anyway. Eric might have tried to act like he was all up to date and plugged into the Nineties, with his goatee and hi-top fade hairdo, but we all knew what a has-been he'd become.

"Roxy, are you listening?" he sighed.

"Nope," I told him, truthfully.

With her ass parked on the desk, Pizzazz examined herself in her compact as she touched up her foundation. "Put a cork in it, Eric. You're here to fix things."

"No one makes that more difficult than Roxy," he whined. "I just spent the last hour pleading with Michael Thorne to let you girls on stage tonight—he's got the Limp Lizards on speed dial."

"You should be used to getting down on your knees," I told him. "Now that Jem's gone, Riot's gotta get his jollies somewhere!"

I figured I'd get a laugh out of Pizzazz, but she gave me a pissed off look. I guess I'd forgot somehow about her stupid crush on Riot. It'd be a little while longer before she finally saw him for the tool he is.

"Anyway," Pizzazz grumbled, "If they don't drop that sketch, we're not going on tonight. That's final."

Eric glared at the ceiling as he paced around the room. "You really don't get it, do you? With live network exposure like this, we can make this the biggest-selling Misfits' album ever. Isn't that what you want?"

Pizzazz rubbed her chin and smiled. "That does sound appealing." But then she let loose a snarl. "Not at the cost of my image, though!"

Eric leaned against the wall and shook his head. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Suck, mostly," I said. "It's what you're best at."

Eric balled his fists at me, but he knew I'd kick his ass if he tried anything, so I ignored him.

"I'll talk to Thorne again," he muttered. "Make it clear to him how _unreasonable_ the Misfits are!" He stomped out of the office like a two-year old.

"Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?" I wondered.

Pizzazz hopped off the desk, stuffed her compact in her bra, and gestured for me to follow her. "Come on, let's find the others. I told Jetta to call Daddy's attorney, just in case. Where'd Stormer go to?"

I shrugged. "Said she was gonna talk to Janie Forrester about somethin'."

If Pizzazz had eyebrows, they woulda shot straight up. "Huh…I don't like the sound of that. What the hell could they have in common?"

I stopped for a moment and thought. "She said somethin' about wanting to talk to her about that sketch. I don't know."

Pizzazz smirked a little. "Let's hope Miss Priss doesn't try to convert her."

Pizzazz can be annoying when she drops one little hint at a time. "Converting who, and to what?"

Pizzazz curled her lips into her widest grin. "Janie, of course. Everybody knows she's a dyke."

I didn't know that, but I wasn't about to let Pizzazz know I didn't know. "Yeah, duh…of course? But, so what?"

"It might not be a good idea for Stormer to spend too much time around her," Pizzazz laughed. "You know how impressionable she can be."

I _did_ know that.

"Big deal," I said, "We don't have to worry about Stormer. Remember Whatshisname, that jerk with the beard on that stupid island?"

Pizzazz rolled her eyes. "Vaguely."

I didn't realize until then that I'd broke out into a run. "I'll see you at the rehearsal!" I called back, as I began searching for Janie Forrester's dressing room.

* * *

I heard crying as I banged on the dressing room door with big letters that said "HOST."

I heard a firm voice shout, "Give us a minute!"

"Hey, Stormer, you in there?!" I called out. "It's me. Come on, let's go."

Nobody answered, so I grabbed the door handle.

Not locked.

I pushed my way inside and saw Stormer sitting on the couch, wiping tears from her eyes, as Janie Forrester put her arm around her and patted Stormer's hair.

"What the hell is this?" I had meant to yell it, but the words barely escaped my mouth.

"We were talking," Janie said, as she glared at me.

I folded my arms and shook my head. "Hey, believe me, I wasn't asking you. What's going on here, Stormer?"

She kept her eyes on her feet as she muttered, "Nothing, Roxy. It's just…nothing."

Well, that was a relief, at least. "Come on, let's go. Pizzazz sent me to get you. I gotta tell you about me kickin' Jean Pegs' ass!"

"Can you give us a minute?" Janie butted in. "We weren't done talking."

"_Pfft!"_ I spit. "Yeah, you are. Let's get outta here, Stormer."

Janie started to say something stupid, but Stormer patted her hand. "It's ok. I'll be all right."

"Just remember what I said," the snooty actress told her.

Stormer nodded, wiped away some more tears, and followed me out the door.

"What the fuckin' hell was that fuckin' shit all about?" I asked. "What'd she say to make you cry?"

Stormer shook her head as I followed her down the hall. "It's nothing like that. I've just had a lot on my mind lately, ok?"

"Yeah, well, you coulda said something. You don't have to talk to strangers. You're a Misfit."

She let out a sigh. "Roxy, sometimes, it's just better to talk to someone outside the band for a change, you know."

That just didn't make any sense to me. "If something crawled up my butt, I'd sure let you know about it."

She smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

We'd been in the band together nearly six years by this point, and I'd gotten kinda used to listening to her when she needed to gab about her stupid brother, or her dead parents, or when she needed to bitch about Pizzazz.

And, you know, I'd kinda got used to talking to her when something was bugging me, too.

Stormer doesn't rip on you when you've got a problem. She just listens.

"Hey," I said, "Um, if something's wrong, I'm not gonna jump down your throat, or nothin'. You don't have to go running to some snooty lesbo if you wanna talk."

Stormer stopped and stared at me for a moment. She shook her head, softly, then violently, until the daisy in her blue curls came loose and fell to the floor.

She began bawling as she turned and ran down the hall. I chased her, shouting at her to stop, but before I knew what happened, some jokers wheeling a piece of scenery got in between me and her. I smashed my way through, but I couldn't see where she'd gone.

I heard a voice on the intercom: "Thirty minutes to dress."

I picked up the daisy and stuffed it into my belt. This day had turned into a fucking mess.

* * *

"Whoa, check it out, Gretz! It's Pizzazz! Babe alert!"

Dane's buddy Gretz mugged for the camera. "She makes me feel funny down there!"

The audience howled with laughter.

Nobody laughed in our dressing room, where Pizzazz, Jetta, and me watched the live feed of the rehearsals.

Pizzazz filed her nails into spikes as she glared at the screen.

Jetta stuffed her face with ravioli. I guess she planned to barf on the audience later, I don't know.

Me, I just never thought "Dane's Room" was all that funny. Those dorks thought they were big metalheads or something, but they wouldn't last two minutes in my world. (I always preferred the guy who kept lying all the time: "Yeah, that's the key." Fuckin' awesome).

On screen, Jean Pegs strutted into the set in a green wig, and with makeup hiding her fresh stitches. Dane and Gretz thrusted their hips at the sight of her, as she blew them kisses.

"Hey, Pizzazz," I said, "How is she any different from you, exactly?"

Her screeching made Jetta spill tomato sauce all over her new bustier. "Bloody 'ell, what's all this rot?!"

On screen, Jean snarled at the camera. Pizzazz snarled right back at her.

I heard the door open behind me. I looked back and saw Stormer doing her damndest to tiptoe into the room. "Hey, where you been?" I called out.

Stormer tried to hide her face as we all turned towards her. "Nowhere," she muttered. "Just…around."

Pizzazz shrugged and turned back to the show.

When she started screaming at the TV as Jean Pegs began flirting with Dane and Gretz, I got up and headed over to Stormer. "You ready for the rehearsal? We should be on soon."

She wouldn't look at me. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just haven't been feeling great, that's all."

Ok, now this finally made sense.

"Yeah, I get it," I told her.

Stormer's eyebrows nearly leaped off her head. "You do?"

I gave her a friendly nudge. "Sure. I've had cramps all day. I didn't think to bring any Midol, or nothing."

"Uh…"

Before she could say any more, Pizzazz grabbed the TV and smashed it to the floor. "I've had enough of that!" she growled. "The nerve of them!"

Jetta came over to us and whispered, "Dane asked Pizzazz to find Jem so they could 'ave a foursome."

I couldn't stop laughing. Maybe that sketch was funnier than I gave it credit for.

* * *

"Thirty seconds!" some dork with a headset yelled out.

I gave the E-string on my bass a couple plucks, as Pizzazz coughed into her mic. "Let's get this over with," she muttered.

I don't know why we needed to come to dress rehearsal, anyway. We weren't like those twerps who had to practice their little comedy routines. We _knew_ our material.

As crew members ran around the set, getting into position, the dork with the headset counted down, "Five, four, three…"

I glanced over at Stormer, as I waited for her cue to get us started. Usually, she's got her fingers on the keys, ready to give us the nod that sets us in motion…

This time, though, her hands rested at her sides, as she stared at one of the cameras as it moved closer to her.

On the other side of the studio, Janie Forrester announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Misfits!" The dress rehearsal crowd screamed and cheered, as well they should. They knew how lucky they were.

I kept watching Stormer, waiting for her cue, but she just kept standing there, doing nothing.

The applause began dying down. Soon, all three of us were watching Stormer, waiting for her to do something…anything.

I saw Pizzazz begin to move toward her, so I rushed over and put my hand on Stormer's shoulder before Pizzazz could say anything. Pizzazz isn't that great at building up a person's confidence, you know?

I started to say something, but Stormer suddenly jerked away from me and launched into the song.

Damn it! I had to hurry to find my place. Luckily, I'm pretty awesome on bass, so I caught up quick. Jetta totally missed her cue, though, and didn't play anything during the intro. No big loss.

As Pizzazz slashed at her guitar, she leaned into the mic and bellowed the first line of our latest single: "Don't try to tell me who I am/I'm through playin' games with you!"

After the ragged start, we began to pull it together, and we reverted to our usual kickass sound. Even Jetta didn't sound too bad as Pizzazz jumped into the chorus: "I've had all I can stand!/I can't take this anymore!"

Then, I looked over at Stormer, to see if her cramps, or whatever, were still bothering her.

She seemed fine now…

More than fine.

During the second verse, she began stomping her heel to the floor in time with the beat, and she began singing just as loud as Pizzazz, which I'd never heard her do before. Pizzazz hadn't either, and finally she leaned over and kicked Stormer's mic stand to the floor.

Then, as we headed into her solo, Stormer began leaping up and down, yelling at the top of her lungs while doing Pete Townshend windmills (which sound like crap on a keytar). Finally, she rushed at the camera and slammed the head of her instrument through the lens.

"Oh shite!" I heard Jetta yell.

This time, I had to agree, as security guys began rushing at Stormer.

I unplugged my bass and swung it around my head. "Who wants a piece of me, dickheads?!"

Eric rushed the stage to try and talk the security guards down, but he failed, just like everything he tries to do.

Soon, me, Jetta and Pizzazz had made a human wall in front of Stormer, with our instruments ready to brain those network dirtbags if they even though of laying a hand on her.

"You idiots!" Eric yelled. "Just get off the stage, before you get arrested!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Pizzazz shouted, as she smashed one especially ugly security guard on the head with her guitar.

Hey, I wasn't gonna let her have all the fun.

Long story short, two seconds later, some jerk's writhing around on the ground at my feet with a bloody nose.

The audience went nuts.

I thought about putting "The End" here, cause that'd be a badass way to wrap up the story, am I right? Unfortunately, there's still some more stuff that happened…

Anyway, there were just too many of those jokers surrounding us, and they managed to grab hold of us and lead us off the stage, and out into the hallway. The next thing you know, they drag us down the stairs and finally toss us out the door and into the street.

"Nazis!" Pizzazz shouted, as she picked herself up off the sidewalk. "Animals!"

For some reason, I found myself helping Jetta to her feet, as she mumbled something about "dirty wankers." It's hard to tell with her, though—coulda been anything.

As Pizzazz shouted at the building, I looked around at all the losers who kept gawking at us, when I finally noticed something wrong.

"Hey, where'd Stormer go?"

* * *

Stormer's a snob.

Ok, she says she's "eclectic," but it sounds like being a snob, where I come from.

In the first months of the band, after I saw Stormer (or Mary, as she called herself back then) playing for spare change in the parking lot of Taco Jim's and recommended her for the group, she'd only admit to liking music that she knew Pizzazz liked. It took a few years before she let us know she liked soft-rock singers from the Seventies, like Jeri Queen and Billie Stone, or that she was a fan of jazz, Broadway, and even some classical. She even confessed to liking disco—blecch!

Where I come from, that's called "Pretending you're better than everyone else." Like she's supposed to be smarter than the rest of us, just 'cause she listens to a whole buncha different crap.

When I grew up in Philly, my buddies in the Red Aces would give anyone crap if they got caught listening to some band we'd never heard of, or did anything at all that made you seem different from the rest of us. Being the same as each other made us stronger, we thought.

On this night, I couldn't be happier that Stormer was so eclectic—it meant I knew where to find her.

* * *

Some famous dork once said that he loved going to New York City, because people there leave celebrities alone.

If you ever see him, tell him he's full of shit.

A little while after we split up to search for Stormer, I headed down Broadway. Every few feet, some idiot would come up to and shout my name, and try and talk to me, or get an autograph. Assholes.

Even in New York, meeting a Misfit's a special occasion.

Anyway, they slowed me down enough that it seemed like it took ages before I made it to The Territory, the old record store that Stormer always liked to hit whenever we were in town.

I shoved some idiot with a white cane out of my way and headed into the store. The place was cluttered, with rows and rows of LPs, cassettes, and CDs. I think I even saw some 8-tracks in there. Betty Center belted out some piece of crap show tune over the speakers, as a Jamaican guy in a gray jumpsuit browsed through the stacks of sheet music near the door.

"Hey!" I yelled to the little old geezer behind the counter. "You seen my friend?"

He scratched his ear. "Blue hair, lightning bolt on her cheek, dressed like a neon whore?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"Never saw her."

I grabbed a Good Jovial CD and ripped the longbox in half.

"Hey, you better pay for that!" the guy whined.

"I'll pay for two if you put on some Misfits," I told him. If I was gonna have a shitty night, at least I could have a decent soundtrack to go with it.

After I pay the joker, I hear Pizzazz singing "I Love a Scandal," as I search the aisles. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a puff of blue hair scurrying around at the back of the store.

Stormer sucks at hiding.

I crept up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder, and watched her jump out of her skin. "Find anything good?" I asked.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked, as she caught her breath.

"Lucky guess," I said, as I picked up an old LP with some blonde bimbo creamin' her panties as she gazed at a dumbass playing a trumpet. "Taps Tucker? Yuck." I tossed the record behind me as I dug through the racks. "You gonna tell me why you flipped out earlier? I'm guessing it's not cramps, after all."

"No," she shook her head. "Is Pizzazz mad at me?"

I shrugged. "I think she woulda found an excuse not to do that show, anyway. If she's mad, it's cause you stole her thunder."

"Oh," Stormer nodded, as she looked through the record bin. "Roxy, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Fuck, don't they have any _good_ albums here?"

Stormer bit her lip as she looked around to see if anyone was listening. "You're my best friend, right?"

Ugh...I should've known the conversation would take a sappy turn. "Stormer, knock it off, we're in public."

Then she looked at me with her sad puppy dog eyes, and I guess...well, I guess I'm turning into a total lame-o. "Of course...of course I'm your best friend," I muttered, as I watched to make sure no one heard us.

She smiled a little. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, but I think I smiled too.

Then she put her hand on my arm and grabbed me. "I need to talk to you, somewhere private."

I tried to quiet her down. "Don't make a big scene...not about this."

I didn't even know what she wanted to talk about, but I knew it must be something I didn't want anyone else to hear.

"Let's just go," she pleaded.

"Fine, whatever."

Stormer began pulling me through the store towards the door, as Pizzazz's voice bellowed out "Trapped" over the speakers.

* * *

Janie Forrester gave the camera a smug grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Limp Lizards!"

As I flopped down onto Jetta's bed in the hotel room, Carrie, or Terri, or Larry, or whatever their singer's name is, started wailing: "My life is a garbage heap/My life's full of choking gas…"

"They've been around as long as us, and they haven't improved one fuckin' bit," I told Stormer, who sat on the other bed with her chin resting on her knees.

"Can you turn that off?" she asked, her voice all wavery.

"No sweat," I said, as I grabbed one of the pillows. "How come you guys got softer pillows than me and Pizzazz, huh?"

Even after all out hit records, Eric was still a cheap enough bastard that he sometimes would only get two rooms for us. Me and Pizzazz usually shared a room—she claimed it was cause Jetta snored, but I know she'd just get all paranoid that me and Stormer might plot to take over the band if we roomed together.

Pizzazz never seemed to figure out that none of us wanted the trouble of being in charge. Talk about a pain in the ass! Just leave me to do my thing and kick ass on the bass, and I'm a happy camper.

"Roxy?" Stormer asked, her voice all tiny.

"What?"

"Would you not like me anymore if you found out I was…different?"

I laughed as I slid Jetta's pillow under my head. "That's no big secret. You've always been different." I glanced over at her and gave her a little smile. "Hey, I guess we need a wuss around, though. You come in handy, sometimes."

Stormer nodded, as she started breathing real hard. "Maybe this isn't a good idea. Maybe…maybe we can talk about this another time."

I groaned as I tossed a pillow at her. "C'mon, you can either let this keep buggin' you, or you can spill your guts and quit makin' us both annoyed, right?"

She squeezed the pillow close to her and sighed. "Roxy, I'm gay."

I really, really hoped she'd say it was cramps, after all.

I didn't say anything for too long, I guess, because finally she whispered, "Roxy?"

I sat up on the bed and looked over at her, as she wiped tears from her eyes. "Stormer…you're a girl."

"Yeah," she nodded. "That's what I mean…I'm a lesbian."

"Oh…but, you like dresses, and makeup and shit?"

She shrugged. "I know. I'm still a lesbian, though."

I thought back to earlier that evening, and something clicked in my head.

I jumped to my feet and looked down at her. "What the hell did she say to you?!"

Stormer's jaw dropped. "Who? What are you talking about?"

"Janie," I reminded her. "She tricked you somehow. When I get my hands on her-"

"Roxy, wait! This isn't something that just happened today, all right? I've trying to figure this out for a long time."

"But…" Fuck, what was that guy's name? "That dude on the island? Anus, or whatever you called him? You screwed him, right? You like guys."

She clutched her pillow close to her chest. "I did let him, yeah." She shook her head and looked up at me. "I tried to be normal. I really did. I mean, I've always…I've always had these feelings, I just…I tried to ignore them, you know?"

I didn't know. That's what makes me _me_, after all. I don't keep anything hidden.

I don't.

Really.

I sat down on Jetta's bed and dug my nails into the comforter. "What'd she say to you?"

"Who?"

"Janie. She's a…she's…like that, you know."

Stormer nodded. "I know. That's why I wanted to talk to her…I needed to know how she deals with it." She bit her lip. "I had to hear someone tell me I'm not crazy."

I snorted. "You're a Misfit—of course you're crazy."

Stormer laughed.

I began walking around the room, trying to figure out which of the twenty hundred questions in my head I'd ask first…

"Hey, what does pussy taste like?"

She flopped backwards onto the bed and put the pillow over her face.

Maybe that wasn't the best question to start with.

"Hell, I don't know what to say!" I blurted out. "I never hung around with dy—anybody who was into that kinda stuff."

Stormer sat up and put her head in her hands. "Go ahead and say it: I'm a dyke. A lesbo. A freak."

She started bawling her eyes out, and I just stood there, cause I didn't know what to say.

I'm pretty damn awesome, but sometimes, I think I'm a real pantload.

Finally, I walked over to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and brought it over to Stormer. "Here ya go."

She blew her nose and wiped the tears from her face. "Thank you."

I shrugged. "I know I'm not being much help. I just wish you wouldn't beat yourself up. Even if you like munchin' bush, you're still a kickass songwriter…and you still have more sense than the rest of us put together."

She smiled a little. "Thanks…but I haven't actually been with a woman yet."

I sat down next to her. "Really?" I let out a sigh of relief. "Then maybe you're wrong." I began bouncing in place on the mattress. "Yeah, you haven't got any in a while, and you're just confused, that's all!"

That theory sounded awesome to me.

Stormer reached over and patted my hand, but I pulled it away from her. "I was confused for a long time," she said. "It's only now that I'm really sure."

"Yeah, but, you can't _know _until you actually do it."

"I don't think it works like that," she sighed.

That's when I came up with an idea.

As Stormer stared at her hands, I stood up, put my thumbs under my waistband, and slid my skirt and panties to the floor. "Let's find out," I announced.

She looked up and found herself looking right at my fur burger. "Jesus Christ!" She put her hands over her eyes and turned away from me.

"Hey!" I shouted. "I took a shower earlier, you know?"

Stormer shook her head as she faced the wall. "Roxy, _please_ get dressed! Don't make this any harder than it is."

I folded my arms and kicked at the carpet (on the floor, not the carpet on my cooch). "I'm tryin' to help you, you know? I don't want you to have to take a buncha crap from people, and then you end up deciding you like dudes after all. I don't want you to go through that."

She turned back to me, still shielding her eyes. "Even if…even if I wasn't sure yet, which I am…I couldn't do it with you. I just couldn't."

I nodded. "Look, if you're rather wait till my period's done-"

"No, you don't understand! That's not what I mean."

"But, then what do you…not Pizzazz, no way," I muttered, before an even worse thought hit me. "Not Jetta! You can bet your ass she's got all kinds of British diseases!"

"No, no!" Stormer whimpered. "And, please, cover up!"

I parked my ass on the bed and draped the towel over my muff. "I wouldn't tell anyone. I rock at keeping secrets, you know."

She finally looked at me again. "You're my best friend. I wouldn't ever want to make things weird between us."

I shook my head. "Yeah, and you told a stranger before you told me. You probably told other people, too."

She sighed. "Not really, no."

An ugly, redheaded thought popped into my mind. "You tell Kimber?"

Stormer had spent way too much time a couple years earlier working with that skanky Hologram. Between Kimber and Pizzazz, they'd ridden every dick in SoCal. Could that turkey be into pussy, too?

"Yeah," Stormer groaned. "I told Kimber. I…I kinda fell for her when we were working together, and she had to let me down easy."

I snorted. "Yeah, well, that's her loss. You remember all the stuff Pizzazz said about Sean, right? Limp City!"

Stormer broke out into a giggle. "Thanks, now I'll be thinking about that the next time I run into them!"

"No sweat," I said. "What about your brother? You told him yet?"

Her eyes bugged out of her head. "Oh, God no. No way, it's gonna be a while before I'll work up the nerve to tell him. A hell of a long while."

I sighed. "Well, at least someone doesn't know yet."

She put her hand on my shoulder. "You know I couldn't tell you until I was absolutely sure. I couldn't risk losing everything on just a hunch."

I don't know why, but I laughed. "Hey, look, this is still pretty weird right now, but I've got your back, kid. As long as I'm a Misfit, you're a Misfit too."

Stormer pulled me into a hug.

Man, those feel so strange, but so nice, all at the same time.

Still, something felt wrong.

"Wait," I told her, as I reached over and picked up my skirt and panties. Next to them, on the floor, lay the daisy Stormer had lost in the hallway earlier.

"Here," I placed it back in her curly blue hair.

"Better?" she asked.

"Mucho."

She rested her head against my shoulder and cried. "I'm so scared, Roxy" she blubbered. "What's gonna happen when people find out?"

I couldn't say anything. I had no idea what she was going through.

I just let her cry.

Misfits don't cry…but I wasn't gonna tell anyone.

* * *

At nearly one in the morning, after Stormer had cried herself out for the moment, and I had put my skirt back on, I flipped on the TV again. We'd done enough talking for the night.

Almost.

"When're you gonna tell the others?" I asked.

"Not yet," she sighed. "Just…not yet."

I had to laugh a little. "They're gonna be pissed to know you've been here all this time."

Stormer put her hand to her mouth. "They're still looking for me, aren't they?!"

I turned up the sound as _Friday After Dark_ came back from commercial. "Eh. They probably need the exercise, anyway," I said.

On the screen, Janie stood with the cast of the show-Lionel McClure and Jean Pegs were on either side of her, as she announced, "Thank you to the Limp Lizards, and this wonderful cast!"

Then, I saw the flash of fluorescent green as Pizzazz rushed onto the stage, with Jetta right behind her. Before Stormer or I could say anything, Janie, the Limp Lizards, and the entire cast had been covered in fire extinguisher foam.

As the picture cut to a test pattern, I threw the remote to the floor. "Isn't that just like them?! We're up here cryin' and huggin' and shit, and they're having all the fun!"

Stormer grinned. "Well, we could always throw the fire alarm _here_, if that'd make you feel better."

I looked at her, then I looked over at the door. "You're on. I'll race you there."

I let her win.

* * *

(Special thanks to my beta tester, Alliegee).


End file.
